Saturday, November 14, 2015

Marked by an Assassin, the eighth book in New York Times best-seller Felicity Heaton’s hot paranormal romance series, Eternal Mates, is now available in ebook and paperback. To celebrate the release, she’s holding a FANTASTIC GIVEAWAY at her website and sharing sneak peeks of the book.

Here’s more about Marked by an Assassin, including an excerpt from this paranormal romance novel.

A snow leopard shifter exiled from his pride twenty years ago, Harbin treads the dark path of life as an assassin, driven by a hunger for vengeance, mercilessly hunting the Archangel members who attacked his kin, murdering his mother and sister.
When a new contract comes in and the mark is a snow leopard shifter, he can’t resist venturing into the mortal world on a personal mission to find out why one from a normally peaceful species now has a price on their head. What he finds in a rundown nightclub isn’t quite what he expects—a beautiful snow leopard female that awakens a fierce hunger inside him.
Aya has spent seventeen years living in London, immersed in the underbelly of the fae world, keeping her head down and her tail out of trouble. But when trouble walks right into her life in the form of a sinfully handsome, dangerous assassin, she is pulled into a whirlwind of events that stir up the nightmares of her past but might just give her a shot at putting those ghosts to rest—if she can resist the dark allure of a male she knows is her fated mate.
Can Harbin and Aya resist the passionate fire that blazes between them as they chase the vengeance they both crave? Or will they surrender to their deepest desires?

Excerpt

Harbin’s strength faded as the tranquilisers began to take hold, numbing him but not quickly enough to stop the need to escape the hunters and their vile clutches, and the thought of waking to find himself at the mercy of Archangel from driving him mad.
Shattered memory fragments bombarded him, filling his mind with a broken replay of blood on snow, crimson drenching white, and the black blur of the hunters who had attacked his kin. He saw their faces, heard their last gasps as he choked the life from them, staring into their eyes so he was the last thing they saw.
He saw her.
The blonde Archangel huntress mocked him with the pretty smile that had addled his lust-fogged alcohol-impaired brain, luring him under her spell in the small bar in the town nearest to the mountain where his pride had lived in safety for centuries.
A peace he had shattered because he had been too full of himself, as headstrong and hot-blooded as his father had always told him he was. He had been too blinded by lust to see the warning signs, had been too tempted by the sinful beauty and the thought of satisfying his carnal hungers.
His pain dulled as he slipped into a daze, the tranquiliser dose not enough to knock him out, leaving him at the mercy of his memories. They ran on a constant twisted replay, tormenting him, driving him insane with a need to hunt and kill, a hunger that he was powerless to satisfy in his drugged state. He weakly banged his head against the hard floor, seeking oblivion in order to escape his past, but he didn’t have the strength to knock himself out.
He was vaguely aware of the hunters as they dragged him from the room, and the faint smell of gasoline as they loaded him into a truck. Lucidity came and went, giving him brief glimpses of holding cells in a darkened space, each filled with an unconscious fae or demon, before the past came rushing back to swallow him.
Each time it hit him, it drove him back under the violent tide of his memories. They battered him, turning him inside out with emotions that were still raw, his pain and fury yet to fade. He tried to growl whenever the blonde huntress flashed across his mind, tried to change the course of events whenever he saw her leaning in to kiss him, her emerald eyes glittering with desire, but no sound left his lips and nothing he did could alter the past.
The truck shifted, jostling him so he rolled against the cold metal bars of his cell. The feel of them pressing against his back and the thought of where he was heading combined to overpower him. Fear closed in despite his years of training and honing his abilities as an assassin, the emotion too strong to deny as it swept through him, swamping his mind and flooding it with images of what might await him and the other unlucky bastards in the truck with him when they reached the facility.
He tried to move, his instincts screaming at him to break free, to not allow Archangel to take him into a facility where he would be tortured and would possibly die. He hadn’t survived this long, hadn’t borne the pain for twenty agonising years for it to end here at their hands.
He wouldn’t let them win.
He snarled and shuffled, managed to get his hands beneath him and convince his body to obey his foggy mind, but he didn’t have the strength to push himself off the grotty floor. His arms gave out beneath him, his left shoulder hitting the floor hard enough to rip a pained yelp from his lips.
A hunter near the back muttered something and cautiously stalked forwards, heading in his direction.
He attempted to feign unconsciousness, but the pain in his shoulder was too intense, the fresh metallic tang of blood permeating the air telling him he had torn the wound open again. He gritted his teeth against it, his jaw muscles flexed, and the next thing he knew was a sharp sting in the right side of his chest as a dart impacted. Strange cold stole through him, numbing as it crept outwards from the impact point.
Darkness claimed him.
A brief, sweet moment of oblivion.
Followed by a rude blast of cold water.
Harbin snarled and tried to back away from the powerful jet, but a wall blocked his escape. He barked out his pain as the icy water thundered against his injured shoulder and then coughed as it struck his face, getting in his mouth and up his nose. He flinched away from it, curling against the wall, but it didn’t stop his assailants. They kept up with their torment, hosing him down where he sat on the frigid tiles of what seemed to be a bright room.
As they ran the hose down his body, he barked again, fire and lightning rocketing up his leg bones as the jet reached his ankle. He growled a curse and swung his gaze towards them, narrowing his silver eyes on them as he breathed hard, struggling against his need to leap to his feet and rip them to shreds.
The two young male hunters lost their smiles, their dark eyes turning wary as they backed off in unison.
Without a word, the one with the hose switched it off and made a swift exit, followed by his companion.
Harbin panted through the pain and gritted his teeth as he looked down at his left leg. The bastards had removed his cast, exposing the deep bruises that marked his skin and leaving him in danger of re-breaking his tibia if he put too much weight on it. He wouldn’t be fighting them any time soon, that was for sure. He needed a few more days before he could risk more than hobbling.
He huffed.
The bastards knew what they were doing. They knew what he was.
Who he was.
Not only had they taken his cast, which he would have easily stripped back to its base parts to get his hands on the metal rods to use them as makeshift batons, but they had taken his clothes.
They had removed everything he might have used as a weapon against them.
He flexed his fingers and smiled coldly as his claws extended.
Everything except his built-in arsenal anyway.
A shadow flickered out of the corner of his eye and he lowered his hands and looked towards the only exit in the white room.
A larger male blocked the door, his rugged face set in grim lines that Harbin felt matched his own expression. They had sent an assassin to deal with him, one of their finest no doubt. Only the best for him.
He bared his fangs at the male.
The bastard simply raised the dart gun in his hand and squeezed the trigger.
Four times.
Harbin grunted as each dart impacted in his injured shoulder and his chest. Cold swept outwards, turning his mind to mush and his limbs to rubber. He slumped against the wall, his head striking it hard, and his hands fell to his lap. He was vaguely aware of the hunter as he advanced, and the rough way he jerked him onto his feet. Icy tiles slammed against Harbin’s face and cool metal encircled his wrists behind him, locking them in place. He struggled, one weak and pathetic attempt at fighting back that did nothing but make the Archangel hunter chuckle in his ear.
Harbin’s hackles rose.
He would take pleasure in making this one suffer when he was free of this wretched place.
It rang around his mind as he stumbled through blurred corridors, beat deep in his blood as he heard the whispers and snickers of other Archangel members and felt their eyes on him.
Felt them mocking him.
The drugs the hunter had pumped him with were already fading by the time he smelled other fae and knew he was near the detention block. His new home for the foreseeable future. He bit back a growl as someone commented as he staggered onwards, feeling as if he had hit a tavern for a few too many beers and was paying the price.
“The mighty have fallen.”
He hadn’t fallen.
Not yet.
He would prove that to them when he escaped this Hell. He would show them all that he was as dangerous as the reputation that preceded him, as wild and feral as the legends told.
He would bathe in the blood of Archangel as he tore this facility to the ground.
He stumbled down a set of steps into a long white corridor and bumped off a wall. His escort shoved him in the back and he snarled over his shoulder at him. The male grabbed his shackled wrists and twisted. Harbin grunted, biting back the cry that tried to leave his lips as his shoulder caught fire.
The pain instantly faded, the anger that blazed within him dying as he felt eyes on him.
A familiar piercing that seemed to ground him and lift the haze from his mind, freeing him from the torment of his memories and his seething need for bloodshed.
His gaze swung towards the source of the soothing feeling.
The snow leopard female sat tucked in the back of a bright white cell with a thick glass front, hugging her black-denim-clad knees to her chest, her silver-gold eyes tracking him. His heart beat harder, an insatiable hunger instantly awakening in his blood, drumming fiercely in his veins.
His guard was down, stripped from him by the drugs and the pain, and he couldn’t deny one thought as it speared his very soul.
She was beautiful.
And he was meant to kill her.
Fresh agony rolled through him, stirred by the thought of taking her life. It collided with the anger roused by the sight of her confined in a cell and at the mercy of Archangel.
He growled, flashing his fangs at her.
She continued to stare at him, unflinching in the face of his fury.
Brave female.
Would she be so brave when Archangel came for her?
The thought of her being dragged from her cell, pulled into whatever twisted experiments awaited her, churned his stomach until it boiled like acid and he wanted to take his claws to the male behind him, and every other person in the building.
He turned away from her and stared at the white tiled floor.
Would she be so brave when she faced him and knew her life was going to end?
What he had planned for her was surely far worse than anything Archangel could dish out, but perhaps it was more merciful. He liked to think so anyway. A wry smile curled his lips. He wasn’t sure whether that made him fucked up or not. Was it better he gave her a swift death rather than her being subjected to Archangel’s demented experiments?
A swift death was surely preferable.
He tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling.
He certainly preferred it.
But the thought of Archangel doing anything to a snow leopard turned his insides and hollowed him out, scraping away all of the softer feelings she had stirred in him and leaving him raw with a need to butcher them all.
And he would.
The hunter shoved him into an empty cell and the glass barrier dropped from the ceiling before he could turn to attack him. The male stared coldly at him and pressed a button on a small black device. The shackles beeped and opened, dropping to the ground behind Harbin. He slammed his palms against the thick glass, right in front of the hunter’s face, but the male didn’t even twitch.
Harbin placed him right at the top of the list of people he would kill the moment he was free.
And he would do it with the very shackles the male had placed on him.
He turned towards them, a smile playing on his lips as he thought about using them to rip open the bastard’s carotid.
A panel in the ceiling swished open, a hum sounded, and the shackles shot up into the dark opening. A tugging sensation in Harbin’s left thigh had his fingers dropping to stroke the neat inch-long surgical scar there. Magnets. He should have known they would have a way of retrieving the shackles.
He hobbled across to the back of his cell, eased down to the floor, and kept stroking the scar, sensing the tracker buried deep beneath his skin.
Hartt would be coming.
Hartt would find him.
He had two days.
He could bear whatever Hell Archangel intended to put him through in that time.
He would survive.
And he would make sure his mark survived with him.
Harbin closed his eyes, seeking the rest he needed to heal his body and ensure he was fit to fight when the time came.
But only horror awaited him.

Marked by an Assassin is available from Amazon Kindle, Kobo Books, Barnes and Noble Nook, Apple iBooks stores and other retailers. Also available in paperback. Find all the links, a fantastic 4 chapter downloadable sample of the book, and also how to enter the giveaway and be in with a shot of winning a $75, $50 or $25 gift certificate at her website: http://www.felicityheaton.co.uk/marked-by-an-assassin-paranormal-romance-novel.phpBooks in the Eternal Mates paranormal romance series:

Author Bio

Felicity Heaton is a New York Times and USA Today international best-selling author writing passionate paranormal romance books. In her books, she creates detailed worlds, twisting plots, mind-blowing action, intense emotion and heart-stopping romances with leading men that vary from dark deadly vampires to sexy shape-shifters and wicked werewolves, to sinful angels and hot demons! If you're a fan of paranormal romance authors Lara Adrian, J R Ward, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Gena Showalter and Christine Feehan then you will enjoy her books too.
If you love your angels a little dark and wicked, the best-selling Her Angel series is for you. If you like strong, powerful, and dark vampires then try the Vampires Realm series or any of her stand-alone vampire romance books. If you’re looking for vampire romances that are sinful, passionate and erotic then try the best-selling Vampire Erotic Theatre series. Or if you prefer huge detailed worlds filled with hot-blooded alpha males in every species, from elves to demons to dragons to shifters and angels, then take a look at the new Eternal Mates series.
If you want to know more about Felicity, or want to get in touch, you can find her at the following places:

Carmel’s time at the H.O.T hasn’t been all that pleasant. She’s gotten drugged, captured, and had to endure her painful change. When Carmel finally starts to enjoy her life at the H.O.T with her friends and her boyfriend Devon; Queen Ice, her annoying past life, contacts her. Queen Ice not only tells her about the impending battle between the good angels and the evil angels, she also continues to pop up in Carmel’s mind, showing her images from her life in the past. Now, Carmel, her friends along with her boyfriend, race to find a sword that they believe will give them leverage in the battle to come.

Unfortunately it isn’t as easy as it seems. There are others who are aware of the sword, and they’ll do anything to retrieve it before Carmel does. In addition, Carmel can’t use her Water or Ice Talent to help in the battle and she doesn’t know why! On top of that, there’s one or more people in Carmel's group who aren’t whom they say they are. Can Carmel find the sword? Will she be able to figure out why her Talents aren’t working? Can she discover who in the group is lying to her and the others about who they really are?

Be sure to read the second series of The Talented by Author Desy Smith to see how the story unfolds!

We’re a couple
of streets down from the museum, waiting on Devon to issue instructions. Earlier, as we laid in bed, I brought up Ms.
Platinum Blonde from the airport. Her name is Tray and as I thought, it wasn’t
anything serious. He did sleep with her before he met me and that was it. It
was just about sex, and honestly, that didn’t bother me. I knew Devon had a
life before he met me. I would be dumb to think otherwise.

“Okay, so here’s
the plan, we go in teams of two.” Devon says inside the car outside the museum.
I know I should have been overjoyed because this is my first mission with them.
But I’m not. My lower back was bothering me. But I endure the pain, because I
knew if Devon found out, I would be left behind, again. “Mel and Ricky are one
team, and Flora.” He says her name with disgust. “And I are another team.”

“Oh, no sir.”
Flora says. “I would rather go by myself.”

“Flora, go with
Devon. This will give you two time to bond with each other.” I add. I look at
Ricky who is nodding his head in agreement.

“I don’t want to
bond with him!” Flora yells. Ricky gently grabs her and they both get out the
car and start talking, well, arguing.

“I told you she
wouldn’t want to do it.” Devon says. I roll my eyes.

“You weren’t
very nice about it.”

“Really? I
thought I was.” Liar. Flora and Ricky open the car door.

“Okay, we’re
ready, and Flora said she would be honored to be in your company.” Ricky says.

We make our way toward the back
entrance of the museum, where two dead police officers are holding the door
open.

“Someone’s
already here.” Devon says and Flora gives him a ‘duh’ look. He and Ricky move
them both inside the door and close it. I notice the alarm on the right side of
the door, smoking.

“The alarm
system has been fried, which prevents the alarm from being triggered.” He tells
us. “Okay, let’s go ahead and split up. Flora and I will take downstairs, Mel
and Ricky will take the second floor and we will meet on the third floor, and
divide that equally.” He turns his attention to Ricky. “If anything happens to
Carmel, do know I will take your life.” Ricky sighs while I roll my eyes. There
he goes again, threatening to kill people.

The museum is
really creepy at night without any lighting and people. I and Ricky’s first
stop is the Egyptian room.

“Did the
Egyptians exist when the angels were here?” I question. Even though my back is
killing me, and I want to soak in a bathtub, eating eggs with syrup, I am
joyous because I have alone time with Ricky, which means I can grill him.

“Yes, remember
the angels came down when Adam and Eve were placed on earth.” Oh yeah. I start
to recall the story Flora told me.

“Your great times 10 grandfather knows a lot
about the Angels.” I say as I pick up another vase and look inside before
tossing it in the ‘don’t need’ pile. “I think it’s amazing how the stories of
Queen Ice were passed down from child to child, but maybe they’re a little less
than factual.”

“I don’t believe
I understand what you’re implying.” I turn to look at him, and try to make out
his facial expression but couldn’t because of the moonlight being the only
lighting in the museum.

“I’m just saying
people tell stories to each other and sometimes they add a little extra in.
Who’s to say that didn’t happen?” I’m purposely trying to anger him, hoping his
rage will make him spill his secret accidently.

“It didn’t.”

“How would you
know? You weren’t there?” I stand up. “Or were you?”

“You’re acting
like Devon now. Do you have something to say, or will you speak in riddles for
the rest of the night?” Ricky states calmly, showing no signs of anger.

“Were you there,
Ricky?” I ask, getting to the point, enough of the bull crap.

“There, as in I
was an Angel in the Angel era?”

“Yes.” He laughs.

“That’s
unlikely, I would be very old and senile.” Anything is possible, I say to
myself, repeating what Ice told me weeks ago.

“Well, I don’t
believe we age like humans. Actually, I think we can be century’s old and still
look young.” Like Ricky, I thought. “Time doesn’t matter to us.” Suddenly, a light
bulb goes off in my mind. I make my way to the wall where a directory is hung.
I notice a room on the third floor dedicated to artifacts with no accurate
time. Otherwise known as the Timeless room. The vase has to be in there.

“I think I
figured it out, Ricky.”

“What, how
angels age?” I shake my head.

“Nope, I think I
know where the vase is at.” I run out the door, ignoring Ricky as he calls my
name, and up the stairs. I walk down the hall until I come upon a cracked door
with the words Timeless printed in white calligraphy on the door. I found it.

I’m sitting on
the floor, looking through another row of blue vases. I was starting to
understand how Devon felt, this whole thing is repetitive and annoying. I want
to find the vase and be done with this part of the mission. I keep asking Ice
if she sees the vase, but of course, when I need her the most, she ignores me.

I get ready to
give up, until a particular vase catches my attention in the moonlight, almost
like God was putting a spotlight on it.
The vase is round, and blue with snow white flames from the bottom to
top. It’s really beautiful. I go to grab it and turn it upside down. On the
bottom there is an engraving.

“Engraved it
shall say To Queen, From Flame.” Ice says. Look who finally decides to make an
appearance. I look at the inscription and it says just that.

About the Author:

Desiree “Desy” Smith was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. As an avid reader, Desy read several books until she ran out of things to read. Having nothing else to read, at the age of thirteen, she decided to write her own book. Her love for reading soon turned into a passion for writing. She self-published her first book, The Talented, under Floebe Publishing, which she started to give a voice to new and aspiring authors. Desy writes to inspire and to provide an escape for anyone who wants to live in a fantasy world without worrying about the challenges of everyday life. The Talented is part one of a five part series, with the second installment arriving finally here. Currently, Desy is hard at work on her third novel, Supernatural Resident Advisor with an expected release date of October 2015. Desy’s genre of choice is fantasy romance fiction. Aside from reading and writing Desy enjoys various types of food, especially dessert. When she’s not reading she can probably be found eating a cupcake or two.

Determined to start over, Lucy Kendall moves to Washington, D.C., and takes a position with the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.

But the past doesn’t want to let her go.

When a police officer walks into her office and tells her the unthinkable, she knows she has to go back. But it’s too late. The gauntlet has been dropped, and Lucy has no choice but to play a sadistic killer’s game.

Unable to trust anyone, Lucy scrambles to find the truth. But time runs out, and she must do the one thing she swore she’d never do: tell the truth about the people she’s killed.

Will Lucy’s ultimate sacrifice be enough?

Available for purchase at

Excerpt

The front door stood ten feet ahead and to my left. I
dropped lower, damned near crawling. My knees skimmed the cement as I hit the entrance.
I leaned back against the recessed area, catching my breath. Even with his
private entrance, Tesla must depend on his parents’ security system for
protection.

His time had come. Daddy’s boy was going to give me
answers.

I slipped the pick into the lock and twisted.

A sound behind me. A twig snapping?

Frozen from the inside out, I forced myself to turn my head
and checked the vast expanse of property. Nothing to see. I couldn’t even make
out the mailbox.

Something above me buzzed. My head jerked up, eyes
watering.

A security camera.

My desperation had made me careless.

That was probably why I didn’t sense the blow coming.

A heavy fist connected to the tender spot at the base of
my neck, propelling me forward. I slammed against the door hard enough pain
shot across my forehead.

I reached back for the gun, but he was too quick,
snatching my arm and twisting it tightly enough I thought it would break free
of the socket.

“I knew you’d come back.” Tesla’s breath stank of pot and
whiskey. “I just didn’t think it would be tonight. But I’m happy to see you.”
He shoved his pelvis against my back. “What’s this?”

Tesla pulled the gun from my belt. “Were you going to
shoot me?”

“Not until you told me where my friend is.”

He pulled my right arm harder. It would break soon if I
didn’t do something. I summoned all my strength and drove my left elbow
backwards, but he’d anticipated it, dancing out of the way. He caught that arm
too, trapping both of them behind my back and pressing me against the front
door. “I don’t have your friend. But I’ll take you.”

“No you won’t. You’re not interested.” Any excitement
from this came from his need for revenge, not to have me.

Stacy Green is the author of the Lucy Kendall thriller series and the Delta Crossroads mystery trilogy. ALL GOOD DEEDS (Lucy Kendall #1) won a bronze medal for mystery and thriller at the 2015 IPPY Awards. TIN GOD (Delta Crossroads #1) was runner-up for best mystery/thriller at the 2013 Kindle Book Awards. Stacy has a love of thrillers and crime fiction, and she is always looking for the next dark and twisted novel to enjoy. She started her career in journalism before becoming a stay at home mother and rediscovering her love of writing. She lives in Iowa with her husband and daughter and their three spoiled fur babies. Stacy loves to hear from readers!

Join her mailing list to receive exclusive information and be the first to know about upcoming releases!

Thursday, November 12, 2015

Pirateship
Down: Stories from the World of the Sentinels of New Orleans

Suzanne
Johnson

Genre: Urban Fantasy

Publisher: Suzanne Johnson

Date of Publication: November 2,
2015

ISBN: 978-0996822008

ASIN: B0169K0YW8

Number of pages: 278

Word Count: 55,000

Cover Artist: Robin Ludwig
Designs

Book Description:

French pirate Jean Lafitte is
tall, cobalt-eyed, broad-shouldered, and immortal. What’s not to love? But New
Orleans’ most esteemed member of the historical undead is headed for trouble.
He’s determined to reclaim Le Diligent, his gold-laden schooner lost at sea in
1814 and recently found at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico near Terrebonne
Parish, Louisiana.

The U.S. Coast Guard and the
Terrebonne Parish Sheriff’s Office might beg to differ.

New Orleans wizard sentinel DJ
Jaco and her merman friend Rene Delachaise can either lock up their friend
Lafitte or join him on a road trip to Cajun country in order to save him from
himself. Terrebonne Parish—not to mention its jail—might never be the same
after the events of the all-new novella Pirateship Down, presented here along
with a collection of urban fantasy stories and essays.

Wizards and Cajun merfolk, sexy
shapeshifters and undead French pirates. Welcome to the world of the Sentinels
of New Orleans in this collection, along with a little Louisiana lagniappe. No
previous knowledge of the series required!

About five
minutes passed before I heard Jean Lafitte in the hallway of the prison, having
a spirited, if one-sided, argument about Spanish fruit. I definitely heard the
words orange and Spaniard. And the pirate never had anything nice to say about
Spaniards since he’d spent most of his human life plundering their ships.

The door opened,
and he strode into the room, sending my empathic senses into overload with the
force of his outrage. I closed my eyes and tried to squelch the urge to bray
like a donkey, because the source of his anger was obvious.

They’d taken
away the cord he used to tie back his shoulder-length, wavy black hair, but
that wasn’t the problem. The problem was his fluorescent orange jumpsuit with
Terrebonne Parish Prison stamped on the back. The suit was tight across his
shoulders and baggy across his hips, obviously not tailored for the pirate’s
athletic build, and the pants were three inches too short and flashing bare
calf. He wore short white athletic socks someone had scrounged up for him.
Obviously, his pirate boots had been confiscated. It wasn’t an outfit designed
to please a man as arrogant and aware of his good looks as my undead pirate.

Jean shifted his
commentary from his guard to me. “Drusilla, a grievance must be made against
these ruffians and thieves. They have stolen my clothing and given me only
this…this….” He ran out of words.

“Ugly-ass orange
jumpsuit?” I offered, always ready to help Jean with his command of modern English.

“Oui,
exactement. I demand that you obtain my release, tout de suite. And you must
know, a woman who allows her husband to remain in such conditions for an entire
evening must face reprimand.”

I leaned back in
the chair and crossed my arms. “And you must know that, in this day and age,
should a man reprimand his wife too much, said wife might leave her husband to
enjoy a longer time in his prison cell wearing his ugly-ass orange jumpsuit.”

The guard who’d
accompanied Jean into the room listened to this exchange with no expression.
Now that Jean and I were both in silent mode, he leaned over to fasten the
handcuffs to a ring on the center of the table, which forced the irate pirate
to sit down.

“You got half an
hour,” the guard said. “I’ll be right outside. If I hear or see anything
through that door that I should not hear or see, visitation will be ended. That
includes shouting, moving of furniture, excessive use of profanity, or sexual
activity. Do you understand?”

I nodded. “Not a
problem.” I had a confusion potion with Jean’s name on it in my shoe, and I
wasn’t afraid to use it.

Suzanne Johnson is the author of
the award-winning Sentinels of New Orleans urban fantasy series for Tor Books,
including the 2014 Gayle Wilson Award-winning Elysian Fields. Writing as
Susannah Sandlin, she is author of the Penton Legacy paranormal romance series,
including the 2013 Holt Medallion winner for paranormal romance Absolution, as
well as The Collectors romantic suspense series, including Lovely, Dark, and
Deep, 2015 Holt Medallion winner and 2015 Booksellers Best Award winner for
romantic suspense. A displaced New Orleanian, she currently lives in Auburn,
Alabama, and loves SEC football, fried gator on a stick, uptown New Orleans,
all things Cajun (including a certain Cajun merman named Rene), and redneck
reality TV.

Alexandra McCabe is disconnected from the world, grieving the loss of her parents…

Content with studying and keeping to herself, Alex has no interest in the campus playboy, Drew Collins, trying to get close to her. But even dousing him with beer doesn’t deter the easy-going charmer, and against her better judgment, the pair fall into a reluctant friendship.

Drew is bored with college life, and Alex’s romantic rejection intrigues him…

Their friendship is good for both of them, but Drew is used to getting what he wants, and he’s tired of shallow sorority girls. He’s much more interested in the feisty redhead, but despite his growing feeling, Alex keeps him firmly in the friend zone.

Old heartaches and new tragedies deepen a complicated relationship…

Whatever life throws their way, Alex and Drew remain best friends with their own traditions. Drew is Alex’s family, her rock, and Alex keeps Drew grounded, always challenging him to better himself.

When years of buried feelings rush to the surface, they threaten to change everything…

Drew promised his mother he’d tell Alex how he feels, when the time is right-but how will he know when that is? Alex is terrified to reveal those ‘three little words’ certain Drew doesn’t feel the same, and she’ll lose the only family she has.

Should Alex and Drew open their hearts, and risk being crushed? Should they be satisfied with a deep, lifelong friendship? Or does the only chance for happiness lie…

“I never got the
point of this movie,” I said, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

“What do you
mean the point?”

“I mean, this
old chick trains this girl to fuck with the guy’s head and he just takes it?
What a pussy!” Red just looked at me like I was crazy. “What?”

“It’s romantic!”

“This is not
romantic.” I pointed at the screen. “This is stupid. The old hag tells him she
will break his heart. She is engaged when he finds her again in New York, and
he still practically begs at her feet. It’s pathetic.”

“He loves her so
much that he spends his life doing everything he can to be worthy of her.”

“Why isn’t he
worthy of her in the first place?” I pointed out. “He’s a nice guy.”

“It’s a gesture.
He wants to prove his love. Like what your mom says.”

“That is nothing
like what mom says. You fight to be the man the girl deserves after she loves
you, not to make her love you. That guy is an idiot. He falls for the first
girl to kiss him, and she does nothing but use him and fuck with his head.”

“Then why did
you agree to watch it?”

“Gwyneth Paltrow
gets naked.” I shrugged.

“Nice.”

“So,” I tried to
steer the conversation toward her date with Russell without sounding too
interested, “you never told me how your date went.”

“Eh.” She
shrugged.

“Eh? What does
that mean?”

“It was okay,
but there wasn’t really anything there. We have nothing in common.”

“Well, that’s
too bad.” I tried and failed to hide my smile.

“I think it was
mutual anyway. He hasn’t called me, so no big deal.”

I told that son
of a bitch to stay away from her. Looks like he heard my warning loud and
clear. “I’m sorry, Red.”

Samatha “Sam” Harris lives near Baltimore, Maryland with her husband David and daughter Ava. Born in Florida, she migrated north which most people agree was a little backwards. She has been an artist all of her life, a Tattoo Artist for more than ten years, and a storyteller since she was a kid.

Sam has a slightly unhealthy love for Frank Sinatra, classic movies, and Jazz and Blues music, but her first love will always be reading. From Romance, to Thrillers, to Historical Fiction and everything in between, she loves to become a part of the story. As a writer she tells the stories that she would want to read.

Yancy Lazarus is having a bad
day: there’s a bullet lodged in his butt cheek, his face looks like the site of
a demolition derby, and he’s been saran-wrapped to a banquet table. He never
should have answered the phone. Stupid bleeding heart—helping others in his
circles is a good way to get dead.

Just ask the gang members ripped
to pieces by some kind of demonic nightmare in LA. As a favor to a friend,
Yancy agrees to take a little looksee into the massacre and boom, he’s stuck in
a turf war between two rival gangs, which both think he’s pinch-hitting for the
other side. Oh, and there’s also a secretive dark mage with some mean ol’
magical chops and a small army of hyena-faced, body-snatching baddies. It might
be time to seriously reconsider some of his life choices.

Yancy is a bluesman, a rambler, a
gambler, but not much more. Sure, he can do a little magic—maybe even more than
just a little magic—but he knows enough to keep his head down and stay clear of
freaky-deaky hoodoo like this business in LA. Somehow though, he’s been set up
to take a real bad fall—the kind of very permanent fall that leaves a guy with
a toe tag. Unless, of course, he can find out who is responsible for the
gangland murders, make peace in the midst of the gang feud, and take out said
dark mage before he hexes Yancy into an early retirement. Easy right? Stupid.
Bleeding. Heart.

"Move over Harry Dresden
because there's a new wizard in town. Yancy Lazarus a chain-smoking, take no
prisoners S.O.B. with a heart of gold and a fistful of primal power. A stellar
debut novel from James Hunter, the next big name in Urban Fantasy." —Rick Gualtieri, Author of Bill the Vampire
(The Tome of Bill)

Excerpt

The piano keys
bobbed and danced under the pressure of my fingers. Music—low, slow, and
soulful—drifted through the club, merging and twirling with wandering clouds of
blue-gray smoke. So many places have no-smoking laws these days, it seems like
there’s nowhere in the country where a guy can take a drag from a cigarette in
peace. Everyone is so worried about their health, they make damn sure you stay
healthy by proxy.

Not Nick’s Smoke
House, though. Nick’s—like some rare, near extinct animal—is the kind of bar
where you can die unmolested by laws or ordinances. You can burn yourself up
with cancer, drown yourself into liver failure, or binge on a plate of ribs
until a heart attack takes you cold, and no one will say boo. And you can die
to music here: the beautiful, lonely, brassy beats, of the like only ever found
in New Orleans.

The house band
was on a break, so I sat thumping out an old Ray Charles tune in the interim
while I watched the man standing offstage in a pool of inky shadow.

I’d never met
the guy before, but I instinctively knew he was looking for me, or rather The
Fixer—a shitty alias I’ve been trying to ditch for years. It was in the way he
stood: chest forward, back straight, arms crossed, chin outthrust. He was a man
used to intimidating others, used to being obeyed. In short, he was a thug. A
thug sporting an expensive suit, a three-thousand dollar watch, and a pair of
loafers that probably cost more than most people paid on rent. At the end of
the day, though, he was still just a thug—somebody else’s trained pit bull.

I don’t know
why, but thugs are always looking for The Fixer. Either they’ve got something
that needs fixing or they’re looking to fix me. I didn’t know whether this guy
wanted option A or option B, but I figured he’d get around to it in his own
sweet time. So, instead of tipping my hand prematurely, I continued to pound
out melodies on the black and whites. My Ray Charles faded out, and I started
up a gritty, ambling version of Meade “Lux” Lewis’ famous “Honky Tonk Train
Blues.”

My left hand
hammered out the thudding, rhythmic, rock-steady pulse of a driving train
pushing its bulk across the rolling open space of some forgotten Midwest
wilderness; the bass notes offered a mimicry of the ebb and flow of pumping
gears. My right hand flitted across the keys, touching down here and there,
sending up a rusty whistle blowing in the night. The dusty clatter of track
switches being thrown. The braying of hounds, while bullyboys searched for
stowaways. If there was ever a song to make a man dance his way onto the boxcar
of a rolling train, it was this funky ol’ honky-tonk rhythm.

I let the beat
roll on, hoping the thug would hop and jive his way right out of Nick’s Smoke
House and out of my life, no harm, no foul. Though a whole helluva lot a people
think of me as The Fixer, really I’m just an old rambler trying to get by and
enjoy the time I have on this spinning little mud ball. All I wanted was for
this overdressed clown to walk away and leave me be.

The man in the
black suit just glared at me like I’d offered him an insult, and I knew then
things would not end well between us. Still, I mostly ignored him. I should’ve
been worried, but I wasn’t.

I’ve been around
for a good long while, and I don’t scare easy.

After what felt
like an age, the hulking suit stepped up to the stage and into a pool of soft
amber light, illuminating his features for the first time. He was enormous, six
and a half feet of pro wrestling muscle, with a pushed-in nose and military
cropped blond hair. His face was a mosaic of scars, though the thick tissue on
his knuckles put them all to shame. One meaty paw lifted back a coat lapel,
revealing the glint of chromed metal: a Colt 1911.

A Colt 1911 is a
big gun, not the kind of thing a person normally chooses as a concealed carry.
The things are too large to conceal easily, and they can be awkward to draw on
the fly, so he probably wasn’t here to assassinate me. A pro assassin would
never have used something as ostentatious and conspicuous as this McGoon’s
1911. A hitter would’ve chosen a sleek, nondescript .22. The kind of gun that’s
easy to hide, would go off unnoticed, get the job done without much mess, and
could be disposed of in a dumpster somewhere. This guy’s choice of weapon told
me he was intimidating muscle, but likely better with his fists than with his
piece.

“Yancy Lazarus?”
he asked with a low voice like grating cement. “You the guy who fixes things?”

Yep, a thug.

I could’ve
denied it, but the guy had found me fair and square, so it was safe to assume
he already knew the answer. I nodded my head a fraction of an inch. That was
all. I went right on playing as though I hadn’t noticed his veiled threat or
didn’t care. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not suicidal and I’m not a pompous
jackass—at least that’s not how I see myself—but I knew I could take this guy.
I had an edge, although Macho Man Hulk in the other corner didn’t know it.

I can do magic
and not the cheap kind of stuff you see in Vegas with flowers, or floating
cards, or disappearing stagehands. People like me, who can touch the Vis, can
do real magic. Although magic isn’t the right word: magic is a Rube word, for
those not in the know, which is precisely why we who practice call it the Vis in
the first place. Vis is an old Latin word meaning force or energy, nothing
fancy about it.

There are
energies out there, underlying matter, existence, and in fact, all Creation. As
it happens, I can manipulate that energy. Period. End of story.

About
the Author:

Hey all, my name is James Hunter
and I’m a writer, among other things. So just a little about me: I’m a former
Marine Corps Sergeant, combat veteran, and pirate hunter (seriously). I’m also
a member of The Royal Order of the Shellback—‘cause that’s a real thing. And, a
space-ship captain, can’t forget that.

Okay … the last one is only in my imagination.

Currently, I work as a missionary
and international aid worker with my wife and young daughter in Bangkok,
Thailand. When I’m not working, writing, or spending time with family, I
occasionally eat and sleep. Strange Magic is the first novel in the Yancy
Lazarus series—the third, full-length novel, Wendigo Rising, just released on
November 3rd, 2015.